


Displacement

by Kagemihari (soracia)



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, Slash, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2004-08-23
Updated: 2005-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soracia/pseuds/Kagemihari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuji POV. <i>Echizen had always reminded him of Tezuka, somewhat...but it had never been more obvious than it was now.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Refraction

**Author's Note:**

> This happened after I watched the episodes where Tezuka leaves for Germany. I can't believe I'm writing this pairing--usually I'm a major ZukaFuji fan, but... Tezuka's gone! :( And right after the stuff about Ryoma becoming the pillar of Seigaku and the flashbacks to young!Tezuka (eeee! <3) who Ryoma looks so much _like_. And Fuji's all alone now and it's sad, so...it gave me ideas.

Sometimes the only thing he saw when he looked at Echizen, was Tezuka. Especially now. Tezuka had never been farther away, never seemed more unattainable, but if he looked at Echizen just right, it was almost as if Tezuka had never left them.

Then of course, just when the image seemed almost perfect, Echizen would smirk in an expression that was purely Ryoma and no one else, and say something snarky or bratty, ruining the effect. Fuji almost hated Echizen then.

He wished he could just avoid the first year player, ignore the doppelganger of the captain that seemed to haunt the courts these days, but there was an irresistible fascination in watching him--seeing someone else entirely in those moments when the line between them blurred beyond recognition in his mind. Tezuka...

No, it was Echizen. He had to remember that. The captain was far away now, injured and healing, and if Tezuka missed anyone at all, it was probably Oishi. Fuji was his friend, maybe his best friend, but he wasn't going to fool himself thinking they were close enough that Tezuka missed his company.

Oishi had become the substitute captain in Tezuka's place, stepping up as the right hand man to fill the gap left by the absent buchou. But Oishi was nothing like Tezuka, and as a substitute, he only made it more obvious that Tezuka was gone.

Echizen was the one who was a living, breathing reminder of the missing captain, the one that drew the eye again and again in bittersweet reflection, particularly whenever he was without the usual white cap drawn low over his face. Echizen had always reminded him of Tezuka, somewhat, and playing him had been just as interesting a challenge, but it had never been more obvious than it was now.

The blank, focused expression and wide brown eyes, his steely determination and dominating presence on the court, the drive and intensity in his game...if one squinted and looked at him through the lens of incircumspect memory, one could almost believe Tezuka himself was standing there, a solid, sure constant with an air of abstracted concentration that made you wonder if he really saw you at all.

At least, you wondered until you somehow caught his attention for a moment. Then his eyes would focus on you, seeming to look through you and into your soul. A knowing, measuring certainty, causing twinges of longing and doubt...as if he knew you better than you knew yourself.

That look always felt as if he either knew Tezuka too well, or not well enough. It was thrilling and almost frightening all at the same time, implying as it did that the captain knew him so well, while Fuji sometimes felt that he barely knew the other at all. It made him want to solve the mystery that was Tezuka, to break him open to see just what kind of fire lay beneath that calm surface. He never doubted that there *was* a fire, banked and hidden, but pure and intense as a white flame.

The same look from Echizen was just as disconcerting, if not moreso. Diconcerting because it was so familiar, the tingle of fear and something else that came from being laid open, bared to that searching look, no matter how Fuji hid behind his smile...that look could see right to his soul.

Fuji would smile and allow his memory to paint a more accustomed overlay on reality, and for a moment it was the same as always, a tingle of mixed excitement and dread sparking in his gut. Excitement for the promise of passion in the intensity of the gaze, and dread for the sheer complete knowing it possessed. Dread which nonetheless, was mingled with desire...being known and exposed, laid bare even in such a metaphoric fasion was undeniably just the slightest bit erotic.

Especially when one had spent years watching and being attracted to the owner of that gaze. Especially when one felt that perhaps, just maybe, this one person was worth being that open with, giving that much of yourself to. Not that there was any indication that person had any desire to accept it--but the familiar, tantalizing possibility was there.

It was there, until a quirk of the lips and a raised eyebrow accompanying the brief 'mada mada da ne', smashed the illusion into twisted, broken fragments and one remembered that this was Echizen Ryoma who had been standing here with Tezuka's look on his face. That Tezuka was far, far away, farther even than he always was, farther than he would be even if he had been here.

In that moment, Fuji didn't know who he hated more--Tezuka, for abandonding him to this hopeless desolation, albeit unknowing of the nature of his desertion; or Echizen, for reminding him so strongly of that fact.

=_=_=

Perhaps it was the wrong time for Echizen to say what he did. Perhaps if Fuji had been in a less volatile mood, he wouldn't have responded the way he did. Perhaps if others had been there, and it had not been just him and Echizen, the last two in the abandoned locker room. But Echizen said it, just then...

"Do I remind you of him so much?"

Fuji raised his eyebrows slightly, looking up at the first year, his eyes still hidden by his smile--looking up, for Echizen was standing, while he remained seated on the bench by his locker. "Of who?"

Echizen's eyes gleamed briefly at the dissembling, probably with amusement. "I remind you of buchou." His calm voice was certain, self-assured. Stating a fact, not a question. "You look at me sometimes like you don't know who I am." He paused, considering, watching Fuji's closed expression. "Like you wish I was something else...something more. I'm not there yet."

"No," Fuji agreed amiably, "you're not. You're not him."

There was perhaps more of an edge to his voice than he meant, and maybe Echizen heard it, for the smirk returned. "Mada mada...but maybe close enough..." He stopped; waiting, it seemed, for some kind of reply.

Fuji studied him from behind his smile, wondering what the brat was getting at. "Close enough?"

Echizen was no longer smirking, and his serious gaze was uncomfortably like Tezuka's, intent and focused. "What do you want? That look, when you see him instead of me...what are you looking for?"

Fuji's eyes opened in surprise, his smile slipping. What? Echizen couldn't possibly have seen...he smiled again. "What makes you think I am looking for anything?"

Tezuka's look again, straight to his soul, and in spite of himself Fuji felt that customary tingle of danger and excitement threading it's way through him. In a thoughtful tone, Echizen replied, "It's that look you give him, like you're waiting for something...like you want something." Like you want him, he didn't say.

Perhaps that spark of danger was affecting his judgement, for Fuji found himself opening his eyes again, recklessly meeting that knowing look with his own in a faint challenge. "Perhaps I do," he said, and it was not quite a question, almost a dare...

The intensity of Echizen's gaze was too familiar, too magnetic, mesmerizing in it's surreal likeness. "Do you?" he said, musingly; but it was not a question. "I wonder..."

He was close, suddenly, too close and leaning forward, and Fuji could see the golden flecks in his brown eyes, just like... no, the glints were the light of determination, of purpose, and the eyes were bright and gold, not Tezuka's eyes, not at all....

This was Echizen--Echizen, not Tezuka, not at all--but that look in the brown eyes was Tezuka, was as familiar to Fuji as the sound of his own name. It called to him with a pull as irresistible, as unthinking as obeying the law of gravity. The attraction, fascination, the assertion of it provoking him to meet and match it, to defy and yet confirm that clear perception, had been enticing and captivating him for years. It was that same constant gaze that held him now.

Almost, but not quite. Not Tezuka, not with that gleam of something else, temerarious purpose or enjoinder, or just plain ironic amusement in that look; yet still in response to it that spark of danger, of excitement, of...anticipation, rose inside him...

It was a complete lack of surprise, rather a thrill almost of victory that he felt as warm, soft lips descended on his own, and Echizen was kissing him, firmly, insistently, one hand resting on Fuji's shoulder as he leaned in and took possession of his mouth. For that was unmistakably the intent, the impression, the heat that lay behind the action--a claiming and a proof of an answer to a question that had not, quite, been asked.

 _Can I give you what you want? Will you let me be the reflection that you see? Is it close enough?_

Fire licked along his nerves and sparked on his skin, out from the point where Echizen's fingers gripped his shoulder, and Fuji suddenly, fiercely, wanted it to be. Wanted this. Knew that what Echizen was offering was perhaps the closest he would ever get to something he had only dreamed of for too long...and oh, he wanted it.

Echizen drew back without ever deepening the kiss, and Fuji bit his lip to deny the uncharacteristic tiny whimper that somehow wanted to escape. He gazed up at younger boy, his blood simmering with a curious mix of hunger, slight frustration and fierce elation. Echizen looked, not smug, not quite, but satisfied, almost vindicated.

Fuji was aware now of a charge in the air, a tension that seemed about to snap; a demand, desire, and maybe a warning--a promise of fulfillment or retribution. And the smirk, the ever maddening smirk was back, but the clear, brown--golden-brown--eyes looked through him still, and Fuji knew he could not resist that knowing glance.

It was too tempting a lure to resist.


	2. Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryoma's view of the events in part one -- warnings for weirdness, and Ryoma being Ryoma, and that's about it, really.

Ryoma had known that Fuji-senpai had what Momo-senpai might call a crush on Tezuka-buchou. It wasn't something he'd noticed, not exactly; just an absent sort of knowing--when Fuji-senpai looks at buchou like that, this is what it means. And since it did not concern him, Ryoma thought no further of it than to catalogue and dismiss it.

It was when the look started getting directed at him, that he had noticed. It puzzled him, at first--he didn't quite recognize the look when it was not given in the right direction, and it took him some time to place it. Yet, it was that same look, the one that Fuji-senpai gave to Tezuka all the time; the one that said, you are fascinating and I want to get inside you and figure you out. The one that said, I want you to look at me, I want you to know me, I want you to want me. A watchful, hungry, not quite wistful look.

When Fuji gave _him_ that look, it startled Ryoma badly. He had never seen Fuji look at anyone other than Tezuka-buchou that way. It wasn't until he saw the other look, the one that followed the I-want-you look, that all the pieces finally fell into place. Ryoma saw the look out of the corner of his eye--he was concentrating on something that Momo was saying and not really paying attention to Fuji watching him, although the eyes on his back made him slightly uneasy.

Then Momo had said something silly, and Ryoma had smirked at him, looking up at him from under his cap before he shot him down. But he had definitely noticed Fuji's expression change, his eyes widening slightly for just a brief instant, as if he were surprised. His mouth opened as if to speak, but he said nothing, and Ryoma thought he looked as if he had seen a ghost. It was oddly unnerving, even moreso that being given that other look--the one usually reserved for Tezuka-buchou.

After several more occurrences of this new look, which always appeared right after the other one, Ryoma realized that when Fuji gave him the wanting look, he wasn't seeing Ryoma at all. He was looking at buchou, and Ryoma was reminding him of the way the captain had used to look. And whenever Ryoma's expression became too obviously _not_ buchou's look, Fuji was suddenly reminded of the fact that he was looking at Ryoma, not buchou, and that buchou wasn't even here.

Ryoma wasn't quite sure how to react to this, once he had it figured out. It wasn't that he minded Fuji-senpai looking at him like that, like he wanted him...actually, he thought he might kind of like it. It wasn't something he had ever considered, before, but now...it was interesting. So for awhile he simply let it be. After all, Fuji-senpai had been looking at buchou like that for a long time, and buchou had never done anything about it so far as Ryoma could tell.

It was the glimpse of pain, anger, and desolation in Fuji's eyes once, when he met that second look straight on, that made him finally decide enough was enough. At the rate he was going, Fuji was going to start blaming Ryoma for reminding him of buchou--perhaps he already was--and Ryoma didn't want anything to do with that. It was none of his fault if Fuji wanted someone who wasn't here; someone who, apparently, wasn't interested in Fuji that way even when he was here.

If Fuji-senpai was going to blame him for something, Ryoma decided, better for something he had actually done.

\-----

It was easy enough to find Fuji alone, that day--he hadn't had any clear idea of what he was going to do, only that he wanted to make sure of what he was seeing, and then do something about it.

"Do I remind you of him so much?"

"Of who?" Fuji looked up at him with that hiding smile, and pretended not to know what he was talking about. Or perhaps he himself was not aware of the way he watched--the looks, and what they meant. Ryoma doubted it. Fuji-senpai knew himself better than that.

He was amused, nevertheless, by the attempted deflection. Refusing to be deterred, he continued calmly. If Fuji wanted to pretend this wasn't obvious, then Ryoma was happy to assure him otherwise. "I remind you of buchou. You look at me sometimes like you don't know who I am." He paused, considering, watching Fuji's closed expression. "Like you wish I was something else...something more. I'm not there yet."

"No," Fuji agreed amiably, "you're not. You're not him." There was a slight, half warning, half resentful edge to his voice, and Ryoma smirked. Gotcha.

 _I may not be him...not yet...but I am close enough to catch your attention, Fuji-senpai. And maybe more than that..._ "Mada mada...but maybe close enough..." He stopped, waiting, wondering how far he would have to push. Better to play it safe and go just far enough; Fuji was subtle, and sometimes subtlety was the best strategy for handling him.

"Close enough?" Fuji just kept smiling at him, still hiding. Probably not sure yet what Ryoma wanted. Well, he could change that in a hurry. But he wanted to be sure, first, that Fuji knew what _he_ wanted.

He gave Fuji a serious look, studying him intently for a crack in that blank smile that hid everything Fuji was thinking. If he was thinking. Ryoma thought he had probably avoided thinking much about this, but Ryoma wanted him to, so Fuji was going to have to deal. "What do you want? That look, when you see him instead of me...what are you looking for?"

And there it was, the smile slipping just for a moment, revealing shock and doubt and something like pain. Anger. Yeah, Fuji definitely needed to think about this. "What makes you think I am looking for anything?"

Ryoma studied him, considering his next words carefully. He wanted to push Fuji, but not too far. Not so far that the anger he'd seen would lash out at him. Just far enough. The look itself--that was what he wanted to know. Did Fuji know what that look meant, himself? "It's that look you give him, like you're waiting for something...like you want something." Like you want him, but Ryoma didn't say that. There was only so far you could push, after all.

Apparently that was just far enough, apparently Fuji had decided to quit pretending now. Ryoma felt briefly pleased with himself for reading the situation so well. He was a bit surprised, and distracted, by the thrill that ran through him as Fuji opened his eyes. Actually looking at him, a slightly challenging look. "Perhaps I do."

Ryoma restrained a snort. Of course you do. But the tone said, so, and what are you going to do about it? Ryoma knew a dare when he heard one.

"Do you," he stated, forming the words like a question; but Fuji would know that it was not a question. "I wonder..." _I wonder what you want. I wonder if you know what you want._

He leaned forward, drawn; leaning down, which was strange. Short as he was, Fuji was still taller than him. But he was looking down now, and if he didn't quite have the upper hand yet, he knew he could reach it. He could see it, feel it, almost taste it in that slight, almost barely a flicker in the blue eyes. The flicker that said Fuji was a bit off his guard here, a bit...surprised? Maybe that.

A bit of a flicker that told Ryoma that whatever this was, this tension, Fuji was not entirely certain of it either, and somehow, both of them were at it's mercy. But Ryoma felt suddenly that it was like the tension of a close game of tennis, that momentum that you could catch and ride and crest on, let it carry you to a win. And there was something to win here, there was something at stake. Something unspoken, but no less real. And Ryoma always played to win.

There was something magnetic about the deep blue of Fuji's eyes. Something that said, here is a match, here is someone to meet with full strength. Like the game in the rain that day, the one that had never been finished. Ryoma had the sudden feeling that it was about to be finished on an entirely different court. A different ground.

A challenge that had been issued and never quite fulfilled, never quite settled; a question asked that had never quite been answered. Ryoma could feel the answer now, almost hear it--looking into, falling into blue that knew the same question, the same answer. Something that had been seen and noted for future confirmation.

 _I see you. I know you. I know what you can be._

Ryoma's mouth curved in the barest hint of a smile, that edge of something that felt like, _I dare you. I dare you to prove it. I am going to make you admit it._ But it was almost a surprise to him, almost not a conscious decision at all, when he found he had closed that last slight distance Fuji's mouth. As if he had found that proof in a place he had not quite expected.

It was in response to the flash of something like anticipation, something like excitement in those eyes, perhaps a hitch of breath that just barely made the confession of a thrill seeker on the edge of something that could end badly, something dangerous that wasn't quite sure, a lure like a siren's call that invited possible destruction.

If it was a surprise, however, it faded instantly beneath the sudden certainty that this _was_ the answer, that this was the challenge met, the match point. It was heat that was sure and hard and definite, a statement and an assertion. A sense of ownership, of claiming, of _winning_ that Ryoma had only felt before when he saw his last serve, his last return sail cleanly over the net and home, clearing the court in a final definition.

 _This is my ground. I can win it. I can take this game. I just did._

Fuji didn't know what he wanted--or rather, he did, but he'd been looking in the wrong place for it. Now Ryoma knew it too, and more than that, he knew what _he_ wanted. Fuji had, maybe, not quite been seeing _him_ , but he was going to. Ryoma was going to show him.

 _I am going to be that image you think you see, the reflection you think you found, I am going to show you which one is real. I am going to prove to you that what you want... is me._

He met Fuji's gaze afterward with a knowing, measuring look. Fuji had not quite gotten yet who he was dealing with, or what Ryoma had intended. But he wanted it. Yes, he wanted it. Partly he had begun to see that it was not going to be an easy thing to gain, or to keep. Partly because it was, at the moment, just slightly out of reach. Partly because he knew that he would have to commit himself to win it. Ryoma almost smiled.

Fuji's eyes narrowed then, recognizing the tension, the unspoken line drawn. Ryoma thought that it was like the first serve of a new game, one that he had started with a twist serve on an unsuspecting opponent. An opponent that had not, quite, been expecting him to live up to his reputation. That had thought, in spite of it, that maybe Ryoma was not to be taken seriously.

Ryoma knew how to play that kind of game. And he knew how to win it.

He smirked.


End file.
